Incongruence
by onhiatusdontwaitup
Summary: Introversion and belligerence caused her to be known as an anomaly amongst her race. The Basics' xenophobia and fellow ISOs' stigma lead her to grow cold, cruel and dangerous. Coincidentally, Clu saw her as the ideal secondary enforcer. R&R?
1. Prologue

Prologue

The blinding lights of the Arena surrounded her from all sides. She could swear that she felt their heat penetrating her suit as she lay there on her side—her suit, black with white circuitry, torn and shredded, with thin, bright streams of energy seeping out of each gash in her torso and limb that once supported a forearm.

Those lights… They burned. Why were there so many? The slick, semi-transparent floors were horribly cold, but… Why hadn't she derezzed yet? Shouldn't this be the end? It hurt too much to think…

Footsteps approached. As she struggled to support herself with an undamaged arm, a hoarse cough escaped her lips, as did energy; core damage came to mind. Her trembling arm gave way beneath, making her pathetically slump back onto the floor and the collective roar of the crowd surge with excitement. Had his discs really cut that deep? It didn't feel like it. Perhaps one had got her from behind. It was a possibility, after all, given that they'd dueled in an enclosed space.  
>The footsteps grew loader as he neared, his boots making soft clanking noises against the thin floor. Wilted, she cringed in fear, defeat, her pride shriveling with the cheers of a sea of spectators.<p>

That mechanical growl… Oh, _why_? She could at least accept deresolution in peace; the majority of her life was lived out in silence anyway. She didn't care for interfacing. But that…that electronic _purring_. It grew louder as he neared…

He knelt down behind her, out of her view, she could hear it. It made her want to squirm with discomfort, but being so weak, only her hands and legs gave a few tremulous jerks and twitches. Oh, she hated them all. She hated _him_. She could kill him now, if it weren't for these blasted wounds—yet to what avail, anyway? She knew she was moments away from falling into a comatose-state as her body would try its last attempts to sustain itself. Killing the mindless brute of a pawn would only provide a moment of bittersweet triumph. In the end, he was of no value to her.

He grabbed her arm, somewhat roughly turned her over. Her limp body gave no protest, but her eyes… There was something familiar. That hatred. Cold, unadulterated ire, like molten silver. They bore through his helmet, she could tell. He didn't move, only growled. But she grinned, impiously grinned. Somehow, she knew that this wasn't the end for her. No… She wouldn't be granted the privilege of a warrior's deresolution. At least, not for some time.

Her smirk faded at the thought, lingering as a faint smile. But she continued to watch that unique, dark helmet, knowing that there were still eyes behind that visor. If these dwindling seconds were her last moments of freedom, she didn't want to fade into his memory—no, not by a long shot. She craved vengeance. Not for her fallen brethren, nor acquaintances, nor any other program, but for her own misfortunes. Egocentric retribution is what most would've sneeringly called it. But how she _lusted_ for it. She wanted to leave scars, metaphysical scars, and could conceive only a single phrase that would do so. A phrase that would contradict her beliefs and motives. A phrase that was sure to cut deep into his programming, surpass Clu's overrides and newly installed protocols. A phrase that was, essentially, a lie. One that would hurt the program in his most suppressed data files from that forgotten time many cycles ago.

Her vision was obscured by dim white coding; she caught 'hibernation', 'imminent', and 'system shutdown' amongst the seemingly random lettering. She chuckled weakly. Though gritted teeth, she made one last attempt to glare at the assassin, grinning with difficulty as her distorted, faltering voice sounded.

"Long live…the _Users_."


	2. Chapter 1

It was at MC01:47:16 that her functions launched since the emergency shutdown prior to that exact amount of time.

"And to think they found you harassing Basics in the streets…" The comment had a distinct, regal air about it, one of smug indifference. As her systems slowly recovered, she sneeringly recognized the voice.

_Visual Interface System: Online. _Her vision lapsed into focus. She blinked repeatedly, believing at first that the lights she was flinching from was the lingering visual imprint of her last moments in the arena.

The Disc Arena! Oh, _User_.

Fear swelling within, she jerked herself into a sitting position, frantically feeling her left arm with a tenuous right hand. Relief flooding her sensors, she gripped and examined her left wrist, forearm and hand with bewildered eyes oblivious to her surroundings. But it was with horror that her eyes fell upon what was left of her once-bright and proud high-caste ISO circuitry.

"We have restored your forearm and recovered all core data, as well as supplied you with an ample amount of energy," the dull voice sounded from the shadows surrounding her. Metallic gaze sweeping the room, she decided that she was in a temporary barrack which acted as a prisoner's infirmary, in her case. Several bright lights beaming from overhead were the only form of illumination. "Now, if you will come with us," the room's single door slid open and Jarvis stepped through the frame, "His Excellency would like to have a word with you."

The ISO didn't even have time to process his words before two sentries took firm hold of her arms and shoved her to her feet. Although startled, she complied with little protest; to violate commands here, of all places, would be an act even she would regret.

The sentries flanking her, Jarvis led them through hallway after yellow-lighted hallway. Her discomfort doubled; given its association, the color was, to a certain extent, oppressive. She curiously eyed her suit and, to her surprise, armor. Black Guard armor, complete with batons fastened to her forearms, extending at the elbows for quick access, though no auxiliary pair on her thighs, or light grenades. Occasional dots and lines of white circuits decorated the otherwise threateningly black bodysuit. Anger flared within the ISO. How dare they modify her! Had the circumstances and setting been a slight bit more in her favor, she wouldn't have hesitated in slicing Jarvis in two.

As the group entered an elevator, the ISO contemplated striking now, as the doors would close on them. She wouldn't mind fighting with limited space. The sentries carried staffs, which, despite being melee weapons, weren't meant for close quarters combat. And Jarvis never seemed to be much of a threat from the start. She leered darkly, feeling the sycophant's discomfort as he warily glanced back at her. She looked to each of the sentries; unmoving and inanimate, she could only catch one of them stare back at her for a moment. In any case, the gesture did nothing to settle her nerves.

All too quickly, Jarvis strode out of the elevator just as its door slid open. She followed shortly, her companions at her heels as they passed through an operations room. The ISO narrowed her eyes as they met that of a couple anxious crew members', who upon noticing averted their gazes back to their circular work stations. She took note of the security stations at each corner of the room, each holding a battle-ready sentry. Once guided through a brightly lit connecting corridor, they entered what she doubted any commoner saw twice. A soft, almost roseate gold hue lit the command deck of what was known as the Throne Ship. Before a broad, extensive window stood "His Excellency" himself, clad in a flowing caped coat and gazing into the vastness of the Grid.

Blinded with anger, the ISO's attention was deliberately drawn to the source of a slow, mechanical growl. Hands held formally behind his back, Rinzler stood just to the side of the path leading up to the dictator of the TRON system. His erect posture suggested obedient belligerence held back by nothing more than the word of his leader, carried in tandem with an indifference to all inferior.

Morality tossed aside, the ISO lunged, one hand raised to her back as she tried to draw her identity disc, the other reaching for the enforcer's neck. But her disc wasn't there, and she wasn't fast enough. Jarvis and his superior turned to see the sentries struggling to restrain an enraged ISO. She jerked and shook the two violently, a free hand spastically trying to claw at the enforcer. Rinzler simply took a step back and looked to his leader, who wordlessly nodded. Thus, the enforcer drew a baton and from it formed a nightstick. Dropping their staffs, the sentries used all their strength to hold the thrashing ISO in place as Rinzler dealt a heavy blow to her lower abdomen. She weakened slightly and the sentries felt it, though they all knew too well that it'd take more to break her. Four more hits followed before she was kneeling on the ground, arms held tightly behind her back and face in a grimace. Clicking his baton into place, Rinzler positioned himself aside from the group once more, his growl ever-present.

"Well, aren't you lively," his voice was gratifyingly sinister. She couldn't help but wonder how that was possible as the two sentries heaved her to her feet and shoved her a few paces ahead. Staggering awkwardly, she had to recover quickly from the beating at the risk of appearing weak before Clu himself. Said program took another step toward her, his smile unnerving, hinting at amusement. "Welcome, ISO."

Her breathing still laborious, she gave Clu a grimly inquisitive glare. "Why was I spared?" She could only consider it appalling to see the almighty program grin darkly and look to Jarvis, then the sentries.

"Leave us." With that, the sentries released the ISO and robotically exited the command deck, Jarvis hastily following without complaint. Clu slowly turned back to the window. From his coat, he retrieved a white-lighted identity disc, activated it and began scanning through. Projected in the disc's aperture, file after file of chronological visual memory twinkled rapidly as his finger traced the disc's circuits. "Do you remember who your last opponent was in the Disc Arena?"

"All too well." She need not look back to him to know of Rinzler's irritation; his growl had grown louder with her words, and for once, she could admit that it terrified her.

"And she fails to see the gravity in it!" With a dry chuckle, Clu glanced back at her, "How often do you calculate an ISO—a program, even—survives long enough to duel Rinzler, much less pose a threat?" Clu faced her suddenly, eyes intense. "You're the first in many cycles, Xana."

Finally managing to calm herself, her gaze glinted as she straightened herself. "I can only view that as further justification for him"—she cocked her head in Rinzler's direction—"to have derezzed me." For just a moment, the enforcer's growl faltered with what sounded to her like a laugh marked with derision.

"Ah… But that outcome would've been rather inefficient, on my part." At that point, she recoiled slightly. "You've noticed the recent upsurge in resistance forces, have you not?"

Silence fell. Xana drew in a short breath, knowing that he awaited her response. "Basics have begun to aid the few ISO fugitives that escaped the Purge. Those of us that remain on the Grid face brutal discrimination and little hope in surviving on our own."

"Precisely," lips parting in a smirk, Clu fell upon intriguing information as he sifted through her disc. "Speaking of which, you seem to be a popular target… My patrol had found you scrapping with Basics. Fisticuffs and whatnot—you guys were really going at it."

Another pause—this time, waiting to hear the truth from her, for he already knew it. Her anger gradually subsided to the pain of betrayal, but that, in turn, gave rise to new ferocity. "They were ISOs, and they ambushed me." Now, she was sure that she heard a break in Rinzler's growl.

Nevertheless, Clu's grin grew wider. The disc's coding lit. Streams of white ciphertext glittered as they appeared and slid downwards, like digital rain, back into the disc. Using his primary functions as a hacker program, he began overwriting and re-encrypting the code, morphing it to his liking. Extending a hand, he motioned her to approach the window, and she did so. Still, she kept her distance as she glanced at the view; evidently, they were atop the End of Line Club. A spark went off in the gloom below. Xana could only assume that the sector was still on lockdown after the bombing from a cycle ago. "I want you to look down there, in the streets of TRON City," he took another step towards the pane, as did she, "See those little bursts of light? What would you presume they are?"

"Derezzing programs—ISOs, mainly… At least, whatever is left of them. I suppose a system scan is in order," she answered, voice unfazed. Clu looked up from his work, studying her movements.

"How about that dark space to the west of the city limits, hm?"

"The sector where the ISO Towers once stood, not too many cycles ago." At this, her brows furrowed in aggravation. Clu took note of it.

"And that empty area on the Grid over there, along the codestream nexus…?"

"…The former location of Arjia." Xana shifted uneasily, realizing with a start that she was being watched, tested. She sneered, her patient, collected will fading. What did he want with her? Why was she still alive, here, being interrogated with these unsystematic questions?

Clu smiled, returning his attention to her disc. "Tell me… How does all this make you feel?" He pinched a strand of code from the hologram, throwing it out and replacing it with one of his own creation, one that shone a faint red.

"I—…" she began, yet broke off instantly, unsure of how to approach the question. Disturbed, she scanned the city, refusing to look back at the jagged sectors on the Outlands that were once Arjia.

"The killing of your kind, how they've mistreated you, anarchy, deception, death, my regime…" As the process continued, the disc's white lighting flickered. Curious, Rinzler looked their way. "Everything."

Tension crackled through the air like electricity. The mere silence ate away at her. She shakily tightened a fist. Contemplating the amount of truth she'd state, her visage darkened in a scowl. With newfound audacity, Xana squared her shoulders and faced Clu. "Be they Basic or ISO, I have no sympathy for those who wish me dead. Even if they do not, my concern is reserved solely for myself."

Clu satisfyingly grinned. As he wrote in the last bit of coding, the ciphertext retreated into the disc, and for a moment, it deactivated. Another lapse in the lights, and the identity disc's patterns lit with dark crimson. Shocked, the ISO watched the disc with wide eyes. "To answer your question from earlier… You were left alive because power like yours should not be wasted, but rather, repurposed." Her gaze lifted, met his. "Yes, repurposed to a more _dynamic_ cause. I'm offering you authority over others, the ability to strike fear into any program at the mention of your name, _power_ on the Grid, all in exchange for your loyalty. Best part is I won't be wiping your memory and taking away your will; all I did to your disc was change the color. You'll still have your autonomy." With a final smile, Clu handed her the identity disc and stepped back. "Think of it as perhaps a challenge, to test the extent of your devotion to revenge."

Xana pensively examined the new color of the disc. What Clu offered conjured the darkest of avarice within her. Limitless revenge was in her hands, and if revenge is a confession of pain, her disc was an anesthetic. She deducted that refusal would end with her deresolution, but accepting this seemed, to a degree, immoral. Adamant at heart, she would never allow herself to become a mindless servant like the enforcer across the room; she'd rather die wandering in the outlands than become a political and military instrument. But if that wasn't the case, if she would willfully serve Clu…

The two programs witnessed the ISO lock her identity disc in. Her metallic eyes glazed over with light as upgrades installed. Just as her disc had done before, her circuitry flickered quickly, then flashed, once, twice. From her disc, dim crimson circuits crawled through her bodysuit like digital lightning. Finally, her eyes fluttered and vision was restored once more. She looked to Clu and was welcomed with a clap on the shoulder. Rinzler appeared disapproving, yet at ease.

A renegade ISO, Xana was made Clu's secondary enforcer.


	3. Chapter 2

Hands clasped behind her back, Xana strode onto a recognizer, its sentries and passengers already locked in place. She leaned against the orange-lighted barrier that encircled the lower deck, folding her arms as the aerial vehicle's massive pylons roared to life. A confident gleam in her eyes, she looked over the captives, pleased with her catch. As two of the eight nervously squirmed and looked about, the remaining six did their best to appear inert. Three of them were part of the ISOs that'd assaulted her prior to her capture and participation in the Disc Wars. Once she had sided with Clu, he'd given her the privilege of three free millicycles, during which she could erase those who had wronged her. It had taken her longer that she'd expected—about a millicycle—but with sentries now aiding her, the hunt was considered a swift and successful one. A smile creasing her thin lips, she rested her eyes, feeling damp, chilled gusts of wind numb her cheeks as the recognizer accelerated to join its counterparts in mid-air.

"Please, Xana!" One of the more anxious ISOs dared speak. "We were sent to intimidate you, so that you wouldn't disclose any information on other ISOs' whereabouts. Graft! Graft called for your termination! We'd never meant to—"

Before the quivering fool could finish, he was summarily derezzed with a sharp blow to his mid torso. Thousands upon thousands of bits of data that once formed the ISO dissolved into the wind. Having heard enough, Xana held her blazing disc as her side as she stared down the others. "Anyone else have something to say?" She received no further responses, as expected.

The recognizer gradually slowed as the Light Cycle Grid came into view. One by one, the aerial transports descended into vertical landings, a lead sentry and two scouts beside him awaiting them on the ground. As the pylons hushed, the crew compartment lowered until it neared the floor, and from it the bottom level lowered to the ground. Xana stepped a few paces ahead and reclaimed her original position with her hands clasped neatly behind her back as she faced the prisoners. The sentries began their usual routine with assigning the programs' fates. The lead sentry would pass before a program, superficially scan him and state one of two possible outcomes. There were seven prisoners now, three of which were ISOs. The group was arranged so that the ISOs would be the last, so the first to be scanned was a program.

"Games," the sentry's gruff electronic voice declared, and the program shut his eyes. "Rectify." Another program, this one, damaged; his half-smile displayed relief. The next three—the last two programs and an ISO—were assigned to the games, which Xana approved of with a smile. The sentry then moved on to the next ISO. "Rectify."

Before the lead sentry could continue, she gripped his shoulder and curtly pulled him aside. "I need this one in the games, not rectified," she stated in a clear, dignified voice.

"Request acknowledged. Query: allowing that this program does participate in the games, what will become of the spare sixth combatant?"

"Oh, that does provide a bit of a problem, doesn't it? Well…" Her gaze swept over each of the captives before crossly resting on one of the programs assigned to the games. Ah, she remembered this one; the unique design of facial markings, those dark, sullen eyes. He had no trouble bringing his boot to her head countless times before, calling her "null unit" as they'd toss her to the floor once beaten into submission. She had no trouble bringing her disc to his head, watching the cracks spread through his cranium and swiftly disintegrate his being. Those doomed to the games cursed their resolution.

"Cancelation verified."

The prisoners' foot clamps clicked open just as the two sentries began plucking off those bound for the games. Each was placed onto hexagonal elevator platforms just a few steps from the recognizer. Once in the center, another pair of foot clamps would lock them into place just as the platforms made their rapid descents into the armory below.

As the last of the ISOs were lead to the platforms, one managed to cast a merciless glare at Clu's newest protégé. "You were never an ISO," he growled as the sentries gripping his arms shoved him along. Xana scowled at first, snorting at the insult, but her position on the Grid reassured her that she'd been meant for higher functions all along; after all, it wasn't she who was about to be modified for the games.

"That's right," she murmured, her smirk returning, wider than ever, "I wasn't."


	4. Chapter 3

On the outskirts of the city, the silhouettes of two programs briefly interrupted the otherwise slick, geometric skyline. The female's dark crimson circuitry clashed starkly with the male's bright viridian, as well as their surroundings. They seemed to be caught up in a conversation as they sat on the ledge of a roof; both watched the bustling city below with mild interest. He'd laugh occasionally, muttering vaguely humorous nonsense, only to make her sip from her bottle of energy and snicker lamely.

Vox was the one exception in the entirety of her life, the one risk she'd ever been willing to take. As much as he was an informant, he was a friend.

"There was much talk of you far after you were taken into the Throne Ship," Vox mused, "'Why was she taken in?' 'What's the point of harboring an ISO?' 'Is she going to be rectified?' 'Why wasn't she killed? I came here to see Rinzler derezz a finalist!'" With a smile, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "But they all knew that wasn't the case. The majority rested on two thoughts: either you were saved for examination and, hopefully, deresolution, or…or you'd been selected for a far more adverse purpose. Still, most prayed for the former to be true…"

"And they were right to do so," she chuckled as a sneer came onto her. She held out her free hand, studying the skeletal circuit patterns that ran from the back of her hand to the tips of her thumb, index and middle fingers. "Soon enough, they'll see what'd become of me for themselves. The games are scheduled to begin within the next two millicycles, assuming that I do manage to catch a few of these accursed _sprites_."

Vox's attention was fixated on a distant sound: a chorus of segmented droning, powerful and deep. He hid his discomfort well. "With sentries on your side, it shouldn't take long."

She didn't have to reply to the truth. Even if she was here, exchanging pleasantries, the sentries were scouting the Grid, sector by sector. The roar of eight recognizers echoed from an area known to screen more illegal functions then the rest of the Grid combined. They'd received word that certain factions of the resistance movement often visit and even reside there. Presumably sixty-four sentries were marching through the streets, searching housing complexes, light mobiles, alleys—anything capable of concealing the target. But Xana knew she'd have to join soon; she'd spent enough time here as it was. This was dangerous. This was illegal.

"You haven't been to the End of Line Club since it was destroyed in the Purge, huh?" The question seemed to be a bit of a tangent. She shook her head no. "That was _cycles_ ago—practically four hundred! It's completely reconstructed. There's even a new host: Castor. He doubles as Zuse's secretary. Oh, and you have to see the new MP3s."

The ISO glanced at her friend, a certain curious flicker in her eyes. "There's more than one?" She latched onto the subject, trying to avoid speaking of the Purge, Zuse and anything relating to those times.

He nodded, eying the area where the EOLC Tower stands at the heart of downtown, virtually dominating it. "Two, neither offsetting the other. It's not conventional, but they're more popular than the guy before them. They operate together, each taking part in writing and modifying the sound scripts. Codependent functions; it's fascinating, really."

"Sounds like it."

"It is." Vox looked thoughtful even as he yawned. "Still, I'm surprised you haven't gone yet. I remember, way back, it was the second place you'd spend too much of your time in. The bouncers kicked you out once for staying too long!"

She was well aware of how he tip-toed around the subject about her old interests, and didn't like it. "Yeah, that was definitely something," she knocked back the remaining mouthful of energy, "I didn't even drink that night."

"Think you might want to go for one sometime later? Without me, of course." he urged. As she was about to protest, he curtly added, "Shaddix wonders why you're not around anymore."

"After the games, I honestly doubt any program will appreciate the sight of me. Besides, my functions pivot critically around loyalty to Clu's orders now. Technically, I should be guiding the sentries right now, and apparently idolizing them," she admitted with a derisive smirk, gesturing in their direction with her empty bottle before throwing it down into the streets far below..

"You mean your buddies over there?" His grins were becoming irritating to her. He suppressed a jubilant laugh. "They're amongst the most frequent clientele."

"…"

"Castor calls them his 'refined denizens'; takes care of them quite well, if you know what I mean." She tried not to look directly into his leering green eyes.

Just then, the drone of the recognizers singled out into one and slowly grew louder, deeper. Both froze to glimpse a single recognizer headed their way from a distant sector.

"I ordered them to report their findings to me," she muttered, still watching the aerial vehicle approach with a bit of relief. She turned to her friend with a stern look. "Better leave before they catch sight of you."

"Oh, please. You're forgetting who I am, Xana." He clipped off his only baton and stood at the edge of the building. Xana walked over to the center of the roof, assuming the recognizer would land there. They watched each other for a micro before Vox smiled wryly. "Let's hope they give us all a good show, eh? You're a difficult one to please."

"Oh, I'll make sure of it," she snapped. Garnering her regality, Xana donned her rigid gaze. "After all, desperation breeds ingenuity."

With that, the program dove off of the ledge, his dark hair fluttering as he disappeared from sight. A micro later, the ISO's silver eyes followed a light jet with no light ribbon steadily climb into the sky, far higher than the range of any recognizer.

"Mistress," a lead sentry stepped off of the bottom level of the crew compartment as it touched the ground. She couldn't resist smiling as the formality she was being addressed with. "Four targets were located and detained. Several more are trapped on site, though we are struggling with them."

"Then we'd better hurry," Xana commented as she stepped onto the platform of the recognizer. Three-fourths of a millicycle had already passed; she wasn't willing to let any more time slip away. Once all sentries were locked in place, the pylons roared fiercely, and soon they were well on their way.


	5. Chapter 4

"Greetings, programs!"

The audience surged in excitement, anticipation crackling through them like electricity. Jarvis opened the speech with a cheerful disposition, rallying the thousands of programs awaiting the start of a very special light cycle duel. He beamed, clearly pleased with the energy resonating within the stadium, for it would reflect in the eyes of his Excellency.

Xana frowned, repulsed by the lengths the poor program went to for praise. She paced back and forth in the operations room within the Throne Ship. Though the exact words of his speech were indistinct from the interior, the ISO still heard the blunt joy and underlying tone of pride injected into each and every sentence. She shook her head, a half-smirk twisting her lips. It was maddening to her. Her very thoughts quivered with the apprehension that if she failed to execute this game with complete excellence, not only would she humiliate herself on a public scale, thus loosing the air of authority, but the entire scope of her essence would be tarnished—or worse. It struck her that some form of these fears resided within the chief administrator himself. Running a hand through her short hair, she scoffed at the realization that it was probably true. She caught but a few hints of the briefing being given to her by another program that looked just too much like Jarvis at the moment.

"Finally, a unit of four sentries will aid you," he said, hesitating with the rest of the information. Xana only waved a hand dismissively.

"I don't need them." She didn't require aid in taking out a pathetic group that'd barely put up a fight in the first place. Moreover, this was her installation ceremony; she alone wanted to be responsible for their deresolution. From a far corner of the room near the hallway, Rinzler's guttural growl did not seem to approve.

"Teams are required to be equal in number," he blurted and clutched his datapad, adding in a softer tone, "This is standard regulation."

She stopped abruptly, sullenly analyzing the crew worker. His visor hid his anxiety well, if there was any. Rather than snapping at the subordinate, the ISO looked to the command deck down the hall. Clu stood before the observational window, clad in his coat and helmet. He had made no indication as to whether or not the rules applied to Xana; this was part of the game, the game of her loyalty. Clu's words rang in her ears. She loomed over the crew worker; he tried to avert his gaze. She stood silent for another micro, just watching him squirm in discomfort. Outside, the massive audience surged as Jarvis concluded his speech by introducing the new enforcer. Not too far from the crew worker, the floor began segmenting itself, slowly descending as it separated into a yellow-lighted spiral staircase. That was her cue.

"Stay out of this." She broodingly threatened Rinzler and trudged away. Her helmet swiftly rezzed, encasing the entirety of her head. Streaks of red lit the sides of it, mimicking the black markings on her cheekbones.

As she made her way down the staircase, the roar of the crowd hit her immediately. Floodlights drenched the colossal stadium in a silver hue that would flush a pale red when crimson fireworks lit sky. She was well aware of the five pairs of eyes burning into her helmet. Her prisoners stood in a line opposite of the four sentries that awaited their lead. All combatants were now properly suited and equipped for the battle. Perhaps it was the mere hype of the event, but a grin tugged at her lips.

Striding up to the opposing team, she identified the center three to be her brethren. With Jarvis surveying, Xana reached out and rigidly grabbed the middle one, a former resident of the Bostrum Colony, by his left arm. She twisted it, so that he'd wince and turn slightly to the side. His teammates eyed her with revulsion as she used her other hand to tear at the newly-fitted suit before shoving the beta-class ISO back into line. The faint, glowing symbol on his skin was now visible through the slit in the fabric. She did the same with the other two, ripping just enough to leave their ISO gender markings in plain sight. The crowd bellowed again, though the tone was now one of contempt as they jeered and hollered wildly. Grimacing behind her visor, she raised a hand to her own left arm and pulled the material apart. Their disdain merged with astonishment.

With that, Xana turned heel and marched toward her awaiting team. "Clu had mentioned that, if all would play out in your favor tonight," Jarvis began, watching her sternly as she passed, "you'd be rewarded with an upgrade." She didn't appreciate the derision in his tone.

"Rest assured that I am a woman of my word, Jarvis." She acknowledged the sentries with a curt nod as she neared. "This battle won't soon be forgotten."

"_Grid is live. Initiate light cycle battle._"

Xana broke into a sprint; in turn, the sentries matched her speed, and in unison the team leapt with their batons in hand. Their five light cycles rezzed in a flash, landing heavily upon slick, sheer floor as they raced to one end of the stadium. Now straddled, she revved her vehicle and activated the light ribbon. Her team mimicked her actions and broke formation just as she made her way onto a downward ramp and disappeared into the sublevel of the arena. Their rivals were in formation on the far side of the arena, making a wide arch towards the center region, where most of the ramps were. She assumed that they would separate once in range of the ramps, to throw her team off. _All the better_, she thought, her fingertips tingling with determination as they gripped the handlebars. _This is my kill_.

She fixated on a blue ribbon overhead in the midlevel. Her opponents had split and a program was advancing towards an acutely curved ramp. If she was able to reach it before he'd get to the bottom, she'd easily trap him. She sped ahead, simultaneously keeping an eye on her first target. It was going to be close. As the ramp neared, with her target racing down it, Xana revved the throttle once more and leaned heavily to the left. Her light ribbon formed a wall at the base of the ramp, and though she couldn't see, it, she heard the terrible scream and crash of the program. The audience cheered as his name dimmed on the scoreboard. The enforcer flashed a grin.

The crash of another opponent overhead startled her. She watched the smoldering white light fade from the disintegrating data as she drove, and reluctantly looked to the scoreboard. Prior to the battle, she'd set her mind on plucking off the ISOs last, to send the crowds into a primal, merciless frenzy and give herself the self-satisfaction she'd been craving for. It seemed that her sentries wouldn't allow that to happen. Through gritted teeth, Xana hissed a slur and set off after the sentry. He'd taken what was rightfully hers. These criminals had tried to kill her before. She'd tracked them down. This event was declared in _her_ honor. If a rule was the only thing giving them clearance to the battle, she was willing to break a few.

Chasing the sentry from below, she continued until she'd closed the distance between them. She spotted a ramp up ahead and noted that he was going to pass it on way or another. It only took a micro, but the ISO revved her cycle, sped up the ramp with enough force to become airborne, then slammed the vehicle onto her unsuspecting teammate. The spectators were taken slightly aback by the move; their cheering hushed to a faint murmur. The sentry shattered on impact, but his cycle took longer to derezz, and it threw her balance off. Part of why she'd been so nervous about the battle was that for all her abilities, she lacked greatly as a cyclist. She prayed that this would not be the moment in which her incompetence would show. The ISO panicked as the cycle swerved, and spotted the second program from the opposing team speed towards her. He turned sharply for his light ribbon to form right in Xana's path. She was trapped, with only heartbeats between fame and deresolution. To her own surprise, she reacted instantly. She summoned her strength, braking hard and withdrawing her energy from her baton. The light cycle quickly collapsed and sent the ISO flying over the blue light ribbon of her opponent. Still holding her baton mid-air, she flooded energy into it with alacrity. Her cycle rezzed once more and nimbly landed. The crowd voiced their astonishment. Now pursuing her assailant, she mechanically reached for her spare baton. She fell in with the blue-lighted program, her glower unwavering. With one hand, she reached for her spare baton and accelerated. The ISO pulled up beside him, pressed the butt of the baton to the startled program's upper torso and generated a sword. The blade effortlessly slid through his body, and the program was derezzing even before his cycle crashed into the arena wall. A flood of shock and thrill rippled through the spectators.

Her gaze was drawn back to the score board as she clicked her baton back into place. Five players remained alive; she, two sentries, and two ISOs were still in play. While she'd been tending to her own impulses, the ISOs had managed to eliminate a sentry. She searched the surface of the arena, only to spot her opponents' white and green light ribbons tracing away side by side in the sublevel. The sentry ahead of them charged onward, only to be caught between their light ribbons and derezz in a large burst of orange light. They were working together to conserve energy, and their lives—an admirable tactic, but nonetheless, a derivative one. She'd seen it too many times before when she herself had been amongst the crowds to be taken by surprise now. A sentry that had caught up with her hovered beside, as if awaiting her first move. His protocols forbid him from resisting when his team leader reached over and revved his throttle. His cycle swerved uncontrollably until it fell through a ramp opening and derezzed in the sublevel.

Xana swiftly calculated their distance and speed relative to her own, but before she could predict any of their moves, the ISOs split. She observed with mild amusement as one veered sharply and quickly passed underneath her on his way to the opposite end of the arena. Glaring after his green light ribbon, the new enforcer returned her attention back to the ISO before her. He was speeding up a coiled ramp, most likely unaware of her proximity. He swirled upwards, gaining momentum. She drew her baton once more. The ISO's cycle forcefully launched into the air and glided over his opponent. She thrust her arm heavenward, a sword present. In a flash of sparks, it wrecked havoc on the delicate mechanisms within the undercarriage of the vehicle. The cycle disintegrated, causing the stunned ISO to crash awkwardly onto the ground and slide a little ways away. Now, he was hopeless. His partner, the Bostrumite, was too far away to aid him, and Xana was already rounding on him. She aimed the tip of the blade at his back and accelerated, grinning as she saw him scramble to his feet and run. Her sword skewed the fleeing ISO and the stadium roared.

"Now," glittering white remnants of the ISO dripped off of her sword as it withdrew, "for the Bostrumite."

The last combatant sped away at full-speed with Xana hard on his trail. With her light cycle possessing twice the maximum speed capabilities of her opponent, it didn't take long before she'd gained on him. The audience grew louder, cheering her on as the new enforcer prepared for the final kill. She'd done it. Every deresolution effortlessly executed. She appeared invincible, immaculate to the world watching her. Perfect.

The Bostrumite glanced back at her. She grinned wildly, still drawing nearer. He held her gaze almost purposefully. One would think that in the final nanos of a program's life, he would betray his innermost feelings of fear or grief, pray to the Users for his death to be a swift one. Conversely, he bore a sort of sneering anger. He hated her for using them all as fodder, for arranging their execution into a show, for planning to kill him, the lower-caste ISO, last. Xana flinched, ignoring it. She dreamily regained her glory and charged.

Suddenly, the stadium filled with screams. Chilling shrieks of fear rose from the direction behind the last combatants and grew louder. Bursts of energy flanked her. The rear of her cycle was hit before she could compute anything. It derezzed immediately, sending her sprawling until she hit the floor. The crowds collectively reeled back, howling in horror. Pain dazed her receptors as fragmenting sections of the light cycle whisked past and collided with her, snapping off parts of her cracked and battered helmet. She wrenched the remainder off, disgusted with her failure, and staggered to her feet to look skyward. A light jet producing a cyan ribbon glided ahead of her. Frantic swarming within the palisades of the arena bemused her. She raised a hand to an eye and could only feel the flaking of deadened pixels. Something hurdled over the protective glass barrier; the flash of two new cycles confirmed it. They set off immediately, one darting off to the Bostrumite, the other warily trailing behind.

"_Illegal combatants on the Grid. Illegal combatants on the Grid…"_ Their presence was yet another violation. Cringing, she drew her second baton, ready to generate her light cycle. Overhead, the jet was returning for a second strike.

"_System failure_."

The computer's monotone echo reached her. "What?" she seethed. Her anger faltered, glare widening. All at once, she realized what protocol implied would come next. Her circuits almost crashed with apprehension. "No, I can finish this myself…"

"_Release Rinzler_."

Beyond the oncoming jet, something was rising over the edge of the stadium's rim. The transparent floors shuddered with the approaching engines of a team of Black Guards lead by Rinzler. Xana glimpsed their fading light ribbons as they passed beneath her in the midlevel. "No," she snarled, rezzing her cycle and hurtling after them. "No!"

Her helmet would not regenerate; she cursed it as the jet dove. Shots lit up ahead. She snaked around them, narrowly missing each blast. Aerial assailant behind her, Xana could not tear her focus away from the flash of azure creeping over the stadium. An usurped recognizer hovered over the highest palisades, directly ahead of the Bostrumite. The ISO and his consorts advanced towards their transport with great speed. She could only make out a single figure aboard the craft, but his form was unmistakable.

Rinzler's team exited the midlevel together as they neared the escaping trio. As Xana crept ever closer, the program backing up their rear selflessly slowed to engage the guards. She watched as he tossed back grenades, each of which detonated upon contact with ground or guard. With two of the military programs scrapped, the remaining two closed in on the aggressor. Before anything could progress, Rinzler launched off of a ramp from the midlevel, appearing just to the side of his assistants, and veered towards the enemy with his light ribbon blazing. The program burst with energy, and the enforcer's team rushed toward their next targets. But Xana was pulling up behind, a cruel ache for reprisal in her single eye. Falling into pace beside one of the guards, she extended her arm to indicate the light jet gaining overhead. He nodded dutifully and slowed to switch vehicles, and ascended to confront the light jet. The ISO drew her blade. Despite it being a fatal flaw, the latter sentry beside her gave little notice because of her superiority over him and derezzed from the weapon plunging into his helmet.

Further on, the recognizer had landed at the end of the arena, awaiting its precious cargo as it skirted death. The Bostrumite had made it. He collapsed his light cycle and boarded the towering vehicle as its engines stirred. The program—his circuits exhibiting a familiar hue—that had traveled with him exchanged his cycle for a light jet to aid his airborne cohort. The Black Guard had already been dealt with, so the two jets assumed formation and dove for the enforcers. Their salvos was difficult for even Rinzler to evade, and with reluctance, he too took to the air to challenge the duo. Xana couldn't have been more grateful.

The hijacked recognizer began its slow ascent. In that instant, the enforcer withdrew her cycle and leapt, arms outstretched. She nimbly latched onto the edge of the lower deck as it rose to the top of the pylons. The engines thrust the vehicle higher, threatening to force her off. Gathering her strength, the ISO pulled her upper torso up over the ledge.

"You've come a long way, Xana."

Dread swept through her system. Dangling from the recognizer's deck, she wasn't in any position to defend herself, and there wasn't a doubt that the cloaked program before her wouldn't abuse the opportunity.

"Get away," she grunted, adjusting her grip as she extended an arm, baton in hand. To risk rezzing a sword at this point was rather undesirable. "Give me the Bostrumite."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he answered through a grin, "But, _Theo_ does have something to say to you…"

The reinforced toe of a boot connected with the burnt socket of her wounded eye. Crimson circuits flickering, she'd nearly fainted. "You craven, glitching…" The dithered Bostrumite's growls faded before he brought his foot down on her outstretched hand. The enforcer let out a strained shriek, bits of coding still crumbling out of the side of her face. "You're the bane of all ISOs."

She caught her breath as he stepped away. The coding within her hand obviously broken, she was even more vulnerable now. The cloaked program kneeled down beside her, his bright eyes searching her twisted visage.

"I've given you so many chances, but you've gone too far this time. Your actions may never be exonerated." There was something like regret in his voice, but as he took her baton, she grit her teeth. "You will be culled from the Grid, along with your superiors, in due time. The rebellion has only just begun."

"Graft…" Xana wheezed, her head whirling. He generated a dagger and brought it down on her uninjured arm. The blade broke through her coding, shattering it. "Graft!"

Her failing body tumbling through a dark sky, Xana's only concern was what Clu would think of her.

_System Shutdown._


End file.
